


give your tears (to the tide)

by alaseux



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Raven!Neil, so Here I Am To Provide, this ship deserves more content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-08 19:53:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13465392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaseux/pseuds/alaseux
Summary: They are nothing if not survivors, and so many have tried to carve the hearts from their chests that sometimes even breathing feels like a gift.(in which Nathaniel and Jean are rescued from the Nest, and they heal as Foxes)





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeanjosten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanjosten/gifts).



> hi!! this is my first fic on here, and i'm so, so excited. i'll try to update as much as possible :) enjoy!
> 
> (title comes from wait by m83)

The first thing he sensed was the sharp pain in his side, then the ache in his calves and the burn in his upper arms; the throbbing in his fingers and the stabbing twinge in his ankles. Nathaniel  _ hurt,  _ really hurt, and it was more than the distant post-game soreness he was accustomed to, more than the shallow cuts Riko liked to leave across his thighs and up his forearms. He still wasn’t fully conscious, drifting in and out of sleep like he could afford to stay dazed and pliant under the weight of the pain.

“ _ Flammèche _ ,” someone was whispering softly. “Nate.”

There was a light pressure on his shoulder, and then Nathaniel was awake, eyes flashing open, hands lashing out against the person touching him.  _ Have to get up, have to get away, have to find a safe place  _ was what his common sense was shouting, but his wounds suggested otherwise, and he whimpered at the movement, pulling his hands back to try and subdue the sparks of pain that were racing through his body.

“Nate, stop, it’s  _ me _ ,” the person said, and Nathaniel was burning, blood hot in his veins, nerves like wildfire as he struggled to regain control. He forced his vision to focus.

It was Jean, sitting beside his bed in their room at the Nest, eyes rimmed with red and sporting dark circles like he hadn’t slept in days. He looked down at Nathaniel. “You’re awake.”

Nathaniel tried to speak, but his throat was raw and coarse, and the slip of a sound that escaped wasn’t really a sound at all. He stared up at Jean, quiet, solid Jean, and then his eyes drifted to the girl behind him. 

She smiled gently at him, face smooth and honest, cross necklace clashing with her bright, rainbow-dyed hair, hands twisted in her skirt, knuckles white like she was feeling his pain for him. He recognized her from a few Exy banquets. Jean noticed him staring and turned to the girl, motioning for her to come forward. 

“Nate, this is Renee Walker,” Jean said quietly, and smoothed the hair from Nathaniel’s forehead. “She’s—we’re leaving.”

Nate was too tired to protest, so he just looked at Jean with a question in his eyes, knowing that he would understand.

“Kevin sent me.” Renee spoke up, and her voice was soft and kind, too warm for a place as brutal as Castle Evermore, too lovely for the words she was saying. “He got Jean’s message, and I’m here to get you out of Edgar Allan. My mother and I are taking you to PSU.”

A bolt of pain went through Nathaniel’s stomach and he curled up on his side, trembling, ignoring the way his skin pulled at the stitches, shoving the looming panic attack at the thought of leaving the Ravens deep down so he couldn’t feel it anymore.

“What happened?” Nathaniel rasped, breathing hard and fast, focusing on Jean’s steadying hand in his hair. “Why—why are you here? What message?”

So Jean spoke up in an unflinching voice, telling Nathaniel of the way Riko had snapped at the death of his father, how he had stormed up to their room, grabbed Nathaniel, and set to work on him, painting him black and blue with angry fists, carving his bitterness into Nathaniel’s flesh. Apparently Nathaniel passed out somewhere between the third and fourth hour, but Riko had kept on his violent vigil, splattering the walls with blood that must have been cleaned, because Nathaniel couldn’t see it now, at least not from his spot under the covers. Jean had texted Kevin in a panic when Riko had gone, stitching up Nathaniel’s more life-threatening wounds and keeping watch in case infection set in as he waited for Renee to arrive. She had come in place of her social worker mother, eyes blazing with righteous indignation for the way Riko Moriyama was allowed to run the Ravens, and now they were letting them—Jean and Nathaniel—go, just like that. Just because Renee’s mother had called up the president of Edgar Allan and demanded their freedom in exchange for keeping the press quiet.

Nathaniel was silent for a moment after Jean finished, but then he set his jaw and smiled his Butcher’s son smile, and Jean was so relieved that he almost forgot to breathe. 

Groaning a little, Nathaniel pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing at the little stabs of pain running up his legs. Jean moved to help him, grasping the arm that wasn’t in a sling to help him out of bed, and Renee watched the door, switchblade out and ready. Nathaniel didn’t even blink. Of course this girl was no stranger to violence; she was a Fox in the Ravens’ Nest.

Nathaniel knew the drill well enough to automatically wrap his good arm around Jean’s neck, clutching the hurt— _ broken? _ —one to his chest as Jean scooped him up like a child. Nathaniel clenched his teeth, muffling the scream that built in his throat at the friction against his legs, focusing on tiny things like the drops of blood on the collar of Jean’s shirt, the shine of Renee’s blade, the stitching on his sling. It grounded him, and his breathing slowed just a bit.

They walked out the door, together, slowly and steadily and blissfully, blissfully alive.


	2. the leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they leave the Nest, looking over their shoulders for the monster in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the kind words on the last chapter!! i love you all sm <3 please keep letting me know in the comments what you think/what you hope to see next !!
> 
> (the song big jet plane by angus & julia stone is kinda the Vibe for this chap just a thought)

 

Renee buckled Nathaniel into the passenger seat of her rental car, doing her best to keep the seatbelt off his more painful wounds. Jean climbed into the driver’s seat, turning on the engine, cranking up the heat because West Virginia got annoyingly cold in early spring. Renee, finished making Nathaniel comfortable, settled in the backseat with Jean and Nathaniel’s twin duffle bags.

They drove to the airport, Renee and Jean making idle small talk, Nathaniel listening but not really comprehending any of it. He was too busy imagining the look on Riko’s face when he found out that his two best backliners (read: punching bags) were going to play “his sport” with his former partner and the current bane of his existence. Staring out the window at the oceans of trees, thinking of the annoyance they were causing Riko, Nathaniel found himself smiling as he faded in and out of consciousness.

The next thing he knew, the car door was opening and Nathaniel was being held up by Jean.

“Look alive,  _ mon flammèche, _ ” Jean said, and Nathaniel found the ability to laugh, because this was what they said to each other when the other was looking particularly rough. 

“Trying my best,” Nathaniel rasped in reply, and Renee hoisted both of their bags on her shoulder, smiling. Nathaniel was learning that she did  _ everything _ with a smile, and he was a bit wary of her, because in his experience, people who smiled that much were the ones to avoid.

After returning the car, Jean and Nathaniel hanging back in the shadows so as to not alarm any of the customers, the three of them made their way through TSA (the TSA agents were used to seeing battered-looking college students in red and black, so no one raised any alarms), and walked slowly to the terminal. They stopped for coffee, and Nathaniel almost— _ almost _ —laughed at the look on their cashier’s face when she saw Nathaniel’s bandaged self. She was obviously horrified, but polite; she didn’t say mention anything at all about Nathaniel’s obviously life-threatening wounds, just a simple  _ have a nice day _ paired with an averted gaze when she handed them their drinks. Jean’s forehead crinkled with the effort of trying not to laugh, clearly noticing her distress too.

“At least that one didn’t say anything,” Nathaniel said quietly to Jean whenever they sat down at the gate.

Jean snorted. “Remember that one time in New York?”

“Oh my God,” Nathaniel reached to cover his mouth to muffle a laugh, then winced. “ _Fuck_ . My hands, too? He must have been  really angry this time.” He tried for a lighthearted tone, but it fell flat. It always did when they were talking about him.

They didn’t say Riko’s name; not in public. Just “he,” in case he was waiting in the wings to snatch them up and drag them home to the Nest, like some sort of cartoon villain. Their fear was necessary, though. It’d kept them alive for this long, and they weren’t about to stop now, just because they were a few miles away from Riko. They would be fools to think that his reach of power was that short.

“The Foxes are vacationing right now,” Renee said, both hands wrapped around her cup, looking out the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows that were a staple of every airport, and therefore made them all seem exactly the same. “They’ll meet us back at Palmetto in a few days.”

Nathaniel nodded, then decided to rest his head on Jean’s shoulder. He couldn’t fall entirely asleep, so he just sat there, feeling the rise and fall of Jean’s chest, the airport sounds blurring into simple background noise. Renee was saying something, he knew, but he couldn’t make out the exact words, so he trusted that Jean was listening and didn’t worry about it, finally dropping off into sleep.

Eventually, the boarding started, and Nathaniel heard Renee say something about first class, so he sat up slowly and looked at them with sleepy eyes. 

“Nate, we need to get on the plane, then you can take another nap,” Jean said gently, as if speaking to a child, and grabbed their bags from the floor. Renee carefully took Nathaniel’s arm to steady him.

They probably looked ridiculous: a tiny, bandaged slip of a boy being held up by a rainbow-haired girl in conservative clothing, accompanied by a tall, pale boy with an endearingly light French accent holding a duffle bag in each hand. It was okay, though, because Nathaniel was used to being stared at; it wasn’t like he didn’t know how people looked at him when he was on the court, or when he was doing press interviews. True, he usually wasn’t this hurt, and he could usually fucking _stand up on his own_ , but it was all fine because they were on their way to safety.

Jean handed the woman at the counter their boarding passes, and then the three of them were walking out onto the tarmac, air thankfully cold against Nathaniel’s burning skin. The knife wound in his belly was probably infected, he thought dazedly, because uninfected injuries never stung this much, but he didn’t tell Jean, because then Jean would worry and Nathaniel hated it when Jean worried about him.

He slipped a little on the stairs going up to the plane, but Renee caught him. “Almost there,” she said encouragingly.

Jean and Renee made him sit between them, and Nathaniel was going to complain because he hated the middle seat more than anything; it made him feel so caged (and caging a wild animal was never a good idea), but he was too tired and too achey to protest, so he just did as he was told and passed out on Jean’s shoulder again before the plane even took off.

He woke to a woman’s voice asking if  _ that young man _ wanted anything to drink, and Jean replying that yes, water would be fine, thank you. Nathaniel nudged Jean’s side a little, and Jean obediently brought the cup to Nathaniel’s lips.

The water was soothing against his sore throat, and Jean’s small smile was pure radiance in the stuffy plane. 

“How long was I out?” Nathaniel asked after what seemed like years of silence, useless fingers scrabbling at the armrest until Jean got the hint and lifted it up so Nathaniel could lean up against him. 

Jean immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders, careful not to disturb the bandages there. “Ages. We’ll be at Palmetto in a few minutes.”

After checking to make sure Renee was really and truly occupied with her dusty copy of  _ Jane Eyre,  _ Nathaniel pressed his lips softly against Jean’s neck, then drew away. “Are you nervous? To be a Fox?”

Jean’s eyes were dark. “It feels like a dream. Like I’m going to wake up in my bedroom back at the Nest any second.”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel said. “I don’t think it is, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neil baby i'm so sorry you deserve so much better than all these injuries :') he's gonna get better y'all don't worry
> 
> bear with me as i build up the chapters!! they're gonna get longer i promise


	3. the first sighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they become acquainted with the Fox Tower and Jean's protective tendencies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi here sorry this took so long!! enjoy lovelies ヽ(o＾▽＾o)ノ
> 
> (pretend like these books are set in like 2016 instead of 2006)

The car ride home from the airport in Renee’s black Maserati (the opposite of a car Nathaniel expected a girl like her to be driving) was quiet, and Nathaniel took the opportunity to pull up an article about the Foxes on his phone. Riko was nothing if not frivolous with his expenses, and although he took joy in punching his players’ lights out, he also spent outrageous amounts of money on them, making sure they all had the best uniforms, the best technology, the best clothes. It was all a game to him, and a high-stakes one at that, so Nathaniel had ended up with a smartphone with data he'd thought he would never use, thanks to Riko’s tendency to keep him locked up in the Nest most of the time. He was nothing but a glorified pet to Riko, a miniature Butcher, tucked in the Moriyama clan’s back pocket as a substitute asset until the time came for him to return to his bloody roots.

At least now he had a good reason to own this stupid phone.

Nathaniel turned his attention back to the article, reading things that he already knew: the Foxes were a mangled bunch, from broken homes and deadbeat parents. Kevin fit right in with them.

Wymack still had no idea that Kevin Day himself was his son, as Kevin had told Nathaniel over text just a few weeks ago. Nathaniel was getting sick of Kevin’s cowardice, so he’d snuck the letter from Kayleigh out of the Nest in his duffle bag. Maybe once he became a Fox, Nathaniel could convince Kevin to tell him. Maybe not. Either way, at least Kevin had his father in his life. Nathaniel’s own father had a tendency for murder, so he couldn’t really talk.

“Renee, your captain, Danielle—what’s she like?” Nathaniel asked. He knew she was the first female captain in college Exy, but that was about the limit of his knowledge.

Renee smiled serenely from the back seat. “Dan is wonderful! She works harder than anyone, on and off the court. I’m proud to play for her.”

It sounded like a practiced response for the cameras, but Nathaniel was too tired to instigate. He just nodded and kept reading about his new teammates; Andrew Minyard seemed like a problem, but nothing that he couldn’t handle. Allison Reynolds was a wild card, and Nathaniel raised his eyebrows a bit at the line about her being “American royalty turned rogue.” 

“They’re going to love you,” Renee said, clearly noticing the article on his phone. “Don’t worry.”

Nathaniel  _ was _ worrying, but it wasn’t like he was going to admit that. Especially not to a girl he’d met only a few hours ago. “I’m fine.”

Jean coughed to cover his laugh, and Nathaniel scowled at him, knowing that he was amused by his all-too-familiar, knee-jerk response. “I  _ am, _ ” he insisted, and luckily, they pulled into the parking lot before he could really get started. 

According to Renee, this was the Fox Tower, home to miscellaneous Palmetto State athletes galore. They would be staying on the third floor with the rest of the Exy team, sharing a room with a junior, Matthew Boyd, a backliner who was dating Danielle. Apparently Matthew had used to share with Seth Gordon, but after Kevin had gone to coach and eventually play for the Foxes, Riko had retaliated by having Seth killed and then disguising it as an overdose. Nathaniel knew this (because he and Jean had been the ones to carry out the order), but hopefully Matthew and the rest of the team didn’t.

The car stopped and Renee was the first to climb out, throwing their bags over her shoulder again and opening Nathaniel’s door for him. “Just a warning… Allison’s going to want to take you shopping when she sees that you only have this much clothing.  _ Especially _ when she sees that it’s all red and black.” At Allison’s name, her cheeks turned a little pink, and Jean laughed.

“We can handle her,” Nathaniel said, looking suspiciously between them as Jean moved to help him out of the car. “Ow— _ Jean, ow, ow, dammit _ —”

“ _ Oh, fuck, sorry, sorry, _ ” Jean slipped into French as he struggled to readjust his grip around Nathaniel’s waist. “Is that better?” He reverted back to English when Nathaniel stopped shouting.

“Yeah.” Nathaniel grabbed on to Jean’s shoulder, and they headed into the Fox Tower.

The suite was large compared to their small dorm room back at Edgar Allan; having a kitchenette, a living room, and a bathroom along with a separate bedroom contrasted so much with their normal cramped space that Nathaniel had to remind himself that this wasn’t really a dream. Jean looked just as stunned by all the extra room, and his grip on Nathaniel unconsciously tightened just a bit.

Renee set their bags down on the bottom bunk bed, and went to her room to take out her contacts and wash her face. (She said she didn’t want to go to dinner looking like a “day old traveler.” Nathaniel laughed.)

“ _ I want the top bed _ ,” Nathaniel said immediately to Jean in French, after Renee vanished out the door. Their room had a double-decker bunk plus a regular bed (raised to chest height to make room for dressers underneath. Well… Jean’s chest. It was aligned perfectly with the top of Nathaniel’s head, much to his dismay and Jean’s amusement.)

“ _ Absolutely not. You can barely walk, let alone climb up that ladder.”  _ Nathaniel could practically hear the eyeroll in Jean’s voice.

“ _ Fuck you. You’re such a giant that you’d hit your head trying to get up there, _ ” Nathaniel countered, tongue quick and sharp and prepared.

Jean just pushed lightly at his chest until he sat on the bottom bunk, unbothered by Nathaniel’s harsh words.  _ “You can have the top when you heal. Until then, you’re staying ground level. Deal?” _

“I genuinely dislike you so immensely much,” Nathaniel said in English, and Jean knew he’d won this time, so he started unpacking their bags, dumping their clothes unceremoniously into the empty dressers.

Another grumbled  _ fuck you  _ came from behind him, and Jean smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jean would treat me RIGHT
> 
> new chap will be a couple days!! going up to the mountains this wknd so i won't have wifi, sorry ://  
> thank you so much for reading !!!


	4. the waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel is a bit upset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took SO LONG i'm so sorry wtf!!!! i've been so busy lately but i hope this kinda makes up for it lmao

 

The little diner, Sweetie’s, was surprisingly empty for a Saturday night, and at the look of confusion on Nathaniel’s face, Renee clarified, “It’s spring break, so everyone’s gone. Usually it’s more crowded.”

He nodded and took in the place, noting the exits, knowing Jean was doing the same beside him. A waitress led them over to a booth in the corner, and Jean tucked himself beside Nathaniel. Renee took the other side, picking up a menu from where the waitress had left them haphazardly scattered across the table.

“I recommend the strawberry milkshake,” Renee said, peeking over the top of her menu through long, dark lashes. “Unless you don’t like sugar, which, in that case, the onion rings are delicious.”

When Jean’s face brightened a bit at the mention of strawberries, Nathaniel snickered. “He really, really likes fruit.”

Jean moved to elbow him, then stopped, reclining farther into the booth. “You get a pass, this time, because you’re crippled.”

Nathaniel flicked his ear. “Since when do you give me passes?” Jean blinked, considered, shifted his weight, then nudged him with his arm.

Renee laughed. 

 

\---- 

 

The next day consisted of lots of sleep, and lots of complaining. Nathaniel insisted, over and over, that he had healed enough to go try out the new court. Jean, in response, locked him in their little bedroom, so Nathaniel picked said lock and got halfway through the living room, limping all the way, before Jean caught him and forced him onto the couch with a blanket and a cup of hot tea. Nathaniel bit his finger when he tried to hand him a pillow, so Jean gave him a wide berth, watching from afar to make sure he didn’t bolt to the court the second Jean looked away. Eventually Nathaniel fell asleep, watching a cooking show, clutching the pillow to his chest.

Renee was gone for most of the afternoon, and she came back bearing bags of groceries; there was a lot of fruit, and Jean promptly started chopping up a pineapple. Nathaniel, having woken up a few minutes earlier, walked into the kitchen and groggily teased him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with aching fingers.

After setting the knife down on the cutting board, Jean turned to face him. “If you behave, and don’t try to play _ , _ we can go to the court tonight.”

Smiling, Nathaniel tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I knew you’d give in eventually.”

“You are  _ not going to play _ , Nate,” Jean said, staring him down. 

“That’s what you think.” His voice was playful but his grin was sharp, and Jean sighed, eyes softening.

“I know how much you love it, but I do not want you getting hurt any more that you already are,  _ mon flammèche _ . Save those self-destructive tendencies for another day, when you can actually walk. Please.” 

Nathaniel looked at his feet, face blank, and Jean almost cringed. He hadn’t asked for submission, and yet he was getting it, from someone who never listened to just about anyone. 

“I won’t,” Nathaniel said eventually, face cracking into a small but real smile. “Can I have a bite?” 

Jean blinked, confused, and Nathaniel’s smile widened minutely. “Of the pineapple,” he clarified, and Jean looked relieved.

After snatching a piece of the fruit, Nathaniel mumbled, mouth full, “I’m not happy about the orange jerseys.”

Turning back around to finish cutting up the pineapple, Jean laughed. “Not used to clashing with your team colors, are you?”

“Ugh,” Nathaniel groaned, resting his head between Jean’s shoulder blades. “Of all the teams we could have come to, you picked the one with not only the worst players, but the worst color scheme as well. Is this revenge for that time in Berlin?” He laughed, then added pointedly, “ _ Mon chou? _ ”

“You said you would never bring it up again,” Jean said crossly, then switched to French. “ _ I cannot believe you bought that shirt. I despise ducks. _ ”

“ _ It was all you had to wear _ ,” he replied, annoyingly singsong, still leaning against Jean. Nathaniel knew his partner too well. Riko would have stripped the skin from his arms for the teasing, but Jean was helpless against it, so he just sighed and put the now-full bowl of pineapple in the fridge.

“Court time!” Nathaniel said, and raced to the bedroom on unsteady legs to change clothes. Jean followed to help him, groaning.

Renee helpfully offered to drive them to the court to give them a tour, and, against his will, Jean smiled at the animated look on Nathaniel’s face.  _ At least he was safe _ . Riko couldn’t steal the fire from Nathaniel’s eyes anymore, not here. Not when they were Foxes.

The outside of the Foxhole Court was… something, and Nathaniel automatically started bitching about it to Jean in arrogant French as they made their way into the building.  _ You would think a pumpkin exploded in here _ combined with  _ there’s a difference between school pride and pure, sheep-like stupidity  _ had Jean clutching his side in laughter, begging Nathaniel to shut up before Renee caught on to the fact that they were making fun of her school.

“So here’s the locker room,” Renee said, generously ignoring the conversation in a foreign language that was occuring behind her, leading them through a hallway and into a large, orange (of course) room. “I think Coach said you’re going to be number ten, Nathaniel, so you’ll have locker ten as well. Jean, I think you’re eleven.”

Nathaniel’s fingers went straight to the three tattooed on his cheekbone, and Jean rested a comforting hand on his back, whispering in his native language, “ _ We’re not Ravens anymore _ .”

“I know,” Nathaniel hissed, suddenly on edge again, too distraught to switch to French. “You don’t think I fucking know that? Riko won’t care that we’re wearing different numbers when we get back under his knife. He owns us, Jean, and trading red and black for orange won’t change that. Carving the skin from our bones feels the same to him, no matter who we play for. We belong to  _ him _ , not the  _ fucking Foxes _ .” He spat this last sentence, and Jean could hear the death knell ringing in his ears as Nathaniel vanished out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nathaniel babey it's okay
> 
> (new chap will be up asap!!!!)


	5. the comforting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is softness, and truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey listen to "nothing's gonna hurt you baby" by cigarettes after sex because that's how jean feels about nathaniel and it's also the vibe for this chap

Nathaniel headed for the only place he knew: the court. He knew Jean would find him there easily, and some desperate, attention-seeking part of him  _ wanted  _ to be found, wanted to be comforted and cajoled into something close to sweetness again. He wasn’t  _ really _ soft, but sometimes he was good at pretending at it, good at convincing his Butcher’s son smile into something gentler. Yeah, Nathaniel’s own tongue usually ended up eventually betraying the easy demeanor he took on around Jean, but for the few light, tender moments before he opened his mouth, Nathaniel liked to pretend that the two of them were something else. Something normal and kinder than the bloody reality they were used to.

Digging his fingernails into his palms, Nathaniel rolled his eyes at his own thoughts, easing down onto the smooth wood of the court. This place was already making him let his guard down. He knew he wasn’t built to be soft; the scars that decorated his skin were a physical testimony to that. So Nathaniel just focused on steadying his breathing again, concentrated on pushing down the panic that had built in the back of his throat as he’d gone off at Jean. It was stupid to be so anxious about a fucking  _ number _ , but here he was anyway, the son of a murderer and the son of a woman murdered, lying spread-eagle on the floor of an empty stadium and trying to put his mind back together again.

After a moment, he heard Jean’s footsteps coming towards him, and Nathaniel flopped a still-bandaged arm over his eyes, saying, in a low mockery of his partner’s French accent, “No, Nate, I’m sure you don’t want privacy. It’s not like you didn’t just yell at me, and you definitely didn’t just storm off so you didn’t have to talk to me.”

“Fuck that,” Jean said quietly, and laid down next to Nathaniel, who let out a hollow laugh.

“Maybe we should get different tattoos,” Nathaniel mused, voice annoyingly shaky beneath the thick layer of sarcasm. He forged ahead anyway. “You know, over our numbers. Like Kevin’s! I could have the knight, you could have the rook, and we could sneak back into Evermore and change Riko’s into something stupid, like a toothbrush. Or a tree. Or a—”

“ _ Nathaniel _ ,” Jean said, and Nathaniel bristled. Jean never used his full name. It was always Nate,  _ mon flammèche,  _ a bizarre French pet name, or something vaguely insulting but sweet when they were pretending to argue. 

Jean sighed and reached out to grab Nathaniel’s good hand. Nathaniel let him, but held on to the anger at Jean’s use of his real name. “I’m scared too, Nate.”

The irritation dissolved, and Nathaniel was equal parts sad and glad to see it go. “I don’t… he engraved his name into me, Jean. He left his mark with ink and blood and scars, and somehow I’m supposed to play for another captain, another team. I know it’s different for you, because you’ve only known him for a few years. But Riko owned me from the beginning, and he knows it. Knew it. Whatever.”

Silently, Jean let go of Nathaniel’s hand, and paused his fingers at the hem of Nathaniel’s shirt. At Nathaniel’s small nod, Jean reached under his shirt and traced the tiny kanji of Riko’s name that was tattooed across his ribs. “He does not own you. Your father does not own you. They both left their marks, but you are stronger because of them, and in trying to pin you down, they just pushed you farther and farther away. You are your own being, wholly and entirely. You belong to no one but yourself.”

“And you,” Nathaniel said softly, to the emptiness of the stadium, and it tasted like a prayer and a curse on his lips. He didn’t lie to Jean, ever, but this wasn’t honesty. This was truth, pure and undiluted. “I belong to you, too.”

“And I am yours,” Jean breathed, and Nathaniel shivered at the sudden cold of Jean’s fingers leaving his skin. They intertwined their hands again, letting the weight of their words settle over them.

Eventually, Jean let go and stood up, helping a still-unsteady Nathaniel to his feet. “It’s late. The Foxes are going to be here tomorrow, and you need all the beautyrest you can get.”

Nathaniel scoffed, welcoming the lighter mood that came with their usual teasing. “I am stunning, thank you, Jean.”

“Come  _ on _ ,” he said, but his voice was gentle.

Renee was waiting for them in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of the Maserati and reading a slim paperback under the warm glow of a streetlamp. She looked like a sort of angel like that, like the light would follow her wherever she went, like she was made for soft smiles and gentle, caring touches. Nathaniel still saw the outline of her switchblade in the pocket of her cardigan, though, but he didn’t mind. She was a contradiction, but she was a contradiction that had rescued them, and that made her trustworthy.

They parted ways at the boys’ room, bidding Renee goodbye and locking the door behind them. Nathaniel sat on the couch while Jean carefully unwrapped the day-old bandages that covered his working arm (it stung at the movement, but it wasn’t sprained, like the other), stomach, and thighs.

“You’re healing,” Jean said, replacing the bandages after smearing a generous amount of Neosporin on the flesh wounds. “It won’t be long on those cuts, and your wrist will only need that sling for another week or so.”

“This reminds me of that time in Vienna,” Nathaniel said.

Jean groaned and placed the first-aid kit on the coffee table, then sat beside Nathaniel. “You just  _ had  _ to go and open up that mouth of yours, didn’t you?”

“The rest of the trip would have been boring, admit it.” When Jean just rolled his eyes, Nathaniel stuck out his bottom lip in a startlingly effective pout and laid his head on Jean’s shoulder.

“Fine,” Jean relented. “The fighting was fun. The watching you get shoved into the back of a van, unconscious, by a gang of fucking mercenaries, was not. The listening to Riko negotiate for  _ five hours _ for your return was not. And the waiting for you to wake up from a three-day long coma was and continues to be the worst experience of my life, so overall? Not fun.”

Nathaniel was asleep. The edges of Jean’s lips flicked up in a smile, and he pulled a blanket over the two of them and soon followed Nathaniel into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the foxes are coming the foxes are coming the foxes are coming!!!!!! i miss my wife allison
> 
> thanks for reading!! hit me up with your thoughts in the comments :)


	6. the softness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel isn't all there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i..... don't know what this chapter is ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Nathaniel was gone when Jean woke in the middle of the night, and Jean twitched a little in the shadowy room, panicking at his absence. Then his eyes landed on a slip of paper resting on the coffee table, and he sighed. 

_ Last door on the left at the end of the hall, if you’re feeling awake enough _ , it read in French, scrawled in Nathaniel’s familiar half-cursive, half-print handwriting. So Jean followed the instructions, of course, ignoring the broken lock on the door and ending up on the roof. 

Nathaniel was sitting on the edge of the building, legs swinging in the open air, staring at something on the ground four stories below him. The sky was bright with stars, and the breeze was cool against Jean’s skin. He wrapped his jacket around Nathaniel’s shoulders and sat beside him, pressing their legs together.

“What are you looking at?” Jean said, leaning back on his hands.

“I dropped my pack of c-cigarettes,” Nathaniel replied miserably. 

Jean sighed. “You don’t even smoke them,  _ crétin,”  _ he groaned, and poked the breast pocket of his coat (that fell to Nathaniel’s stomach). 

Nathaniel smiled up at him and pulled out the extra pack that Jean carried around for him, lighting up and closing his eyes as he breathed in the smoke. “We’re gonna put on a show today for the Foxes, right?” His voice was slurred with fatigue. 

“Nate—”

“We gotta, like,” Nathaniel started, waving a hand in the air, “assert dominance, or whatever the fuck.” His British accent was even more pronounced like this, when his face was soft and sleepy and his hands were hidden by the sleeves of Jean’s jacket.

“You’re stupid,” Jean said, stealing the cigarette from Nathaniel’s fingers and taking a drag. 

“ _ You’re _ stupid,” Nathaniel countered, jabbing half-heartedly at Jean’s side before collapsing, boneless, into his lap, cheek pressed against his thighs.

Jean’s brow furrowed, and then something about Nathaniel’s wispy, not-all-there behavior clicked. “Are you… Nathaniel, are you drunk?”

“Don’t call me that,” Nathaniel said, voice a little trembly. “You only call me that when you’re mad. Are you mad? It was just a little whiskey, I promise.”

“What—Nate, where’d you even get it from? I’m not mad, just—what?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Nathaniel said quietly. “And I was just staring at the ceiling, and I looked over, and there was Matthew’s alcohol cabinet, and I just… took some.”

Jean took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment. “Let’s go downstairs, and try to go back to bed. You could have fallen off of this stupid tower.” He hesitated, remembered how Nathaniel loved kind words, gentle touches when he was drunk, and made a split-second decision. “Baby, come on.”

Nathaniel hummed happily into Jean’s thighs. “Like it when you call me that.”

Jean wanted to throw himself into the abyss, but he settled for pulling at Nathaniel’s shirt until he stood, swaying dazedly. They made their way slowly across the roof, and eventually Jean gave up and made Nathaniel climb onto his back. He carried him back to their room, Nathaniel babbling incoherent things into Jean’s neck, and tucked him into bed.

“Do you want me to stay?” Jean shouldn’t be here. They’d shared a bed before, but not like this. Never like this.

Nathaniel tugged at Jean’s hand, already closing his eyes, so Jean took the hint and got in beside him, pulling the covers up over them both and sighing. 

“The two of us have to be a team,” Nathaniel said, seconds or maybe hours later. “They’re gonna—they’re gonna be scared of us. We gotta keep it that way. Until we can get out of here.”

“Okay,” Jean said. Nathaniel drew Jean’s arm around his waist and slipped into sleep.

 

\----

 

The sun was streaming through the blinds, hot on his cheeks and bright against his eyelids. Nathaniel’s head felt thick, like it was full of cotton, and his throat was dry and scratchy. The thing that caught his attention most, though, was the warm breath against the back of his neck. It was—oh,  _ fuck _ .

Nathaniel, sadly, was not the type to forget things he did when he was drunk. If anything, alcohol enhanced his memories into crystal-clear mistakes, which meant that he remembered the night before in vivid detail. 

_ Jean had called him baby.  _

It was fine, he convinced himself, eyes fluttering shut again, pressing his back against Jean’s chest. He’d just pretend like he’d forgotten it all. Besides, Jean was the one with the habit of holding his hand, Jean was the one who lent him his jacket all the time, Jean was the one spooning him in a  _ twin bed _ . Their relationship had always blurred the lines between friendship and romance anyway; soft touches and fiery kisses pressed against burning skin were normal for them. They’d never acknowledged it before and they certainly weren’t going to start now. In front of the Foxes, yes; their united force would scare the team into submission. But not between each other. That was fine. 

At least they had this: tiny, infinite moments, all tenderness and mutual affection. It was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adfjksa this is so short i'm sorry!!! but i wanted to have an entire chap dedicated to the Foxes, and drunk nate would have overshadowed that lmao. i'll probably update again today, or at least soon!!
> 
> let me know what you think in the comments :) they keep me going haha


	7. the intimidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel becomes a brat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these boys genuinely terrify me. i love them

Nathaniel was really going for the scare factor today, Jean noted, watching him brush his hair from the doorway of the bathroom. He was clad in Edgar Allan colors: black athletic leggings, a dark red Adidas hoodie, specialty black and red Nikes made just for the Ravens (Nathaniel had insisted on having his number embroidered in the tongue of the shoe, and Riko had obliged. Jean had the same ones, but with a four).

“Did you take off your bandages?” Jean asked, nudging Nathaniel aside to brush his teeth. The leggings didn’t reveal anything but muscular legs.

“Yeah,” Nathaniel said, obediently moving out of Jean’s way. “The cuts are basically healed, and the bandages in question would have kept me from wearing this outfit.”

Jean laughed. “Your narcissism is going to be insufferable now that we’re out of the Nest and you actually have time to primp.”

“Excuse you,” Nathaniel said, then blinked. “I mean… you’re not wrong, but ouch.”

Jean spat into the sink, then rinsed his toothbrush. “Have you seen Renee today?”

“Yeah,” he replied, leaning against the wall. He tried to cross his arms, but then remembered the sling. “She made me skip my morning run.”

“You tried to run? With a sprained wrist? You were within an inch of your life just a few days ago, Nate!”

Nathaniel frowned, tugging at the sling. “It doesn’t even hurt. Can I take it off?”

Groaning, Jean turned to face him. “Are you  _ sure  _ you’re not in pain? If you hurt it again, it’ll be longer until you can play.”

He tilted his head, considered for a moment. “It’s fine.” At Jean’s glare, his eyes went wide and honest. “I promise. I feel  _ good _ . I’ve never had this much time to heal before.”

“Okay,” Jean said. “I trust you to alert me if or when it starts to hurt again.”

Nathaniel nodded, then tried to shrug out of the sling. Jean sighed and helped him take it off, and Nathaniel smiled gratefully at him.

“I wonder what the Foxes are like,” he said, playing with the string of his hoodie using his stiff, newly-healed hand. “I grilled Renee for information, and apparently we can’t use German around each other anymore, because the Minyard twins and Nicky Hemmick speak it. French or Japanese is fine, if you want Kevin to understand as well. Nicky speaks fluent Spanish, so the only language we can use if we don’t want the others to hear is—”

“Mandarin,” Jean finished, groaning. 

“I guess you should start practicing,” Nathaniel said cheekily. 

In his years at the Nest before he could actually play for the Ravens, Nathaniel had taken up languages with the rigor of a boy possessed. Riko, who’d encouraged this habit with the excuse of “team diplomacy,” had gotten him the best tutors. In reality, Riko just liked to show Nathaniel off, but in the end, Nathaniel had gotten the better end of the stick, because now he was fluent in nine languages and working on a tenth. Jean had wanted to speak a language that only Nathaniel knew, because their Japanese and French were understood by both Riko and Kevin, so Nathaniel included him in his Mandarin lessons. It was a difficult language, and he hadn’t taken to it as easily as Nathaniel, but he was fluent enough to communicate with him.

“ _ Unless you don’t want anything to be private,” _ Nathaniel teased in German. “ _ I’m sure Andrew Minyard would love to be privy to all our personal conversations. _ ”

“ _ You… are a menace to society. It’s a wonder no one’s killed you out of spite yet, _ ” Jean said in broken Mandarin.

“You’ve gotten better!” Nathaniel’s surprise sent him back to his native language. The shock faded, and he stuck out his lower lip in a pout, saying, “Also, I’m not a  _ menace _ .”

Jean just shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching up as Nathaniel punched his arm then disappeared out the door.

“They’ll be here in about ten minutes,” Nathaniel called over his shoulder. “Get dressed.”

And so Jean did, donning Adidas joggers, an Edgar Allan hoodie, and his Ravens Nikes with the little red embroidered four. He and Nathaniel were already practically the same person, so why not match down to the clothes?

They met in the lobby downstairs, and Nathaniel laughed when he saw Jean’s outfit. “I guess we’re not pulling any punches, are we?”

“Have we ever?”

“You’re not wrong,” Nathaniel sang. “I apologize in advance, by the way.”   


“For what?” Jean asked, worry rising in his throat like the tide, but the doors swung open before Nathaniel could reply. 

The Foxes walked in, and Nathaniel automatically placed himself in front of Jean, a tiny boy protecting someone about a foot taller than him. It looked funny, but Jean knew that Nathaniel kept approximately seven knives on him at all times. He was all sharp blades and hidden sheathes, and Jean was the person that mattered most to him, which meant those blades were in his favor. It made him shiver a bit.

Kevin looked right at them, and Nathaniel didn’t move, so neither did Jean. He followed Nathaniel’s lead, staring uninterestedly at the team. 

“Nathaniel,” Kevin said, leaving his Foxes to stand in front of his former teammates. “Jean. Are you… are you okay?”

“Hello, Kevin,” Nathaniel said, voice icy and arrogant, and Jean automatically knew this wasn’t going to be good. “You seem well.”   


“ _ Careful _ ,” Jean warned in Mandarin, and apparently that sparked the team’s interest, because a short blond boy came over to stand at Kevin’s side. He was dressed in all black, and Jean heard Nathaniel snicker. 

_ “Got yourself a new bodyguard?”  _ Nathaniel asked in biting Japanese.  _ “Let’s see, Kevin, is he even tall enough to fend off children?” _

“Nathaniel, please,” Kevin said wearily in English. “This is Andrew Minyard, goalkeeper.”

“Hello, birdies,” Andrew said, and his grin was harsh and sharp. “Fell out of the Nest, didn’t you?”

“And into hell, apparently,” Nathaniel answered pleasantly. He smiled in return, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Who knew goth was vogue again? I sure didn’t. Jean, baby, did you?”

_ So that’s how they were playing it. _ “Definitely not. I wouldn’t say it’s quite the peak of fashion, but who knows? Maybe style is different in the deep south, sweetheart. Or maybe it’s just a factor of the inbreeding and the systematic racism.”

Nathaniel turned to face him, eyes lighting up in well-faked surprise. “Oh, I hadn’t thought about that!”

Andrew’s lip curled, and Jean could feel the satisfaction rolling off Nathaniel in waves.

“Careful, little birdies,” Andrew said, and his grin had returned. “We could always accidentally give you back to Riko.”  

“Shut up, both of you,” Kevin said, irritated. “Andrew, they’re here to stay. Nathaniel, curb the attitude before you get stabbed.”

“I mean, if blondie here wants to go…” Nathaniel said, flicking his hand to reveal the shine of a blade, voice so low and sultry that Jean nearly blushed.

“I decline the offer,” Andrew replied, and his smile was replaced with a bored, apathetic look that Jean recognized all too well.

“Oh, goodness, Jean. He couldn’t stand the teasing.” Nathaniel pressed his back against Jean’s chest, pouting. “This isn’t fun anymore.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Nathaniel, stop being a brat. Let me introduce you two to the rest of the team.”

“If you think they can handle us,” Jean said, and Nathaniel looked up at him, smiling at the way he was playing along. That smile was  _ real _ , untainted by sarcasm and biting wit, and it was only ever used on him. 

Jean rolled his shoulders back and went to meet the rest of their new team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay okay next update they'll meet the rest of the foxes!! i just love drawing this out lmao
> 
> leave me a comment if u wanna! they keep me goin


	8. the introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nathaniel and Jean meet the Foxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long ashfkdsa thank you for dealing with me guys
> 
> listen to in the air tonight by phil collins,,, it's what i listened to while writing this
> 
> tw for a general description of violence (it doesn't actually occur in this chap!! nathaniel just describes what happened in the past)

Kevin introduced them to each Fox, and Nathaniel immediately decided that he liked Allison Reynolds. She was narcissistic and entitled, just like Nathaniel, and obviously had great taste in fashion, because her Timberland boots were bright pink to match her tailored peacoat. He ignored the rest of his new teammates in favor of striking up a conversation with her about the benefits of hiring copilots on private jets versus being one’s own copilot, and she looked delighted to reply.

After a few minutes of discussion, Allison announced, “I’m officially adopting Nathaniel. Everyone else back off.”

Andrew sent her a blistering look, to which she rolled her eyes and said, “Andrew, you’re not taking him. He’s clearly one of us.”

“Care to explain?” asked Neil, pulling Jean to his side.

“No,” Dan cut in. “We’re not doing this again.”

“There’s kind of this… grouping system,” said Nicky, despite Dan’s command. “With the Foxes. You’re either claimed by Andrew, or you hang out with the upperclassmen.”

“Not anymore,” Dan said firmly. “We’re a team and we’re going to act like it.”

“I don’t know,” Nathaniel drawled, just to cause trouble. “Groups sound like fun.”

Allison grinned. “I like him. A lot.”

Jean wrapped an arm protectively around Nathaniel’s shoulders, and Nathaniel laughed and said quietly to him, “Baby, you know you don’t have any competition.”

Jean hummed by way of reply, and Allison gave them a slow look up and down. 

“Oh, sorry,” she said with a laugh. “Wasn’t trying to move in on your man, Jean.”

“Anyway,” said Nathaniel, addressing the rest of the team, who had formed sort of a circle around he and Jean. “Where’s your coach?”

“Wymack? Probably at his apartment,” Matt said. “Wanna meet him?”

“Yes,” said Jean, and Nathaniel nodded.

“We can drive you,” Matt said, at the same time Kevin said, “Come with us.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “And so we’ve reached an impasse.” A pause. “We’ll ride with Kevin there and Matt back.”

It turned out that the black Maserati that Renee had driven them in was actually Andrew’s, which made him infinitely more interesting, because Andrew didn’t seem like the flashy car type. He and Jean got into the backseat, and when Aaron and Nicky clambered in too, Nathaniel just shrugged and climbed into Jean’s lap. Aaron looked disgusted, and Nathaniel sent him a sharp grin, daring him to say anything. He didn’t, and Nathaniel counted it as a victory.

Jean rolled his eyes, clearly sensing what he was doing, and Nathaniel ran his fingers through Jean’s hair. “ _ Thank you _ ,” he said in French because Kevin wasn’t there yet to understand, “ _ for playing along _ .”

“ _ You didn’t give me a choice, mon flammèche _ ,” Jean huffed.

“ _ Do I ever? _ ” Nathaniel countered. Jean shook his head and laughed.

Nicky shifted his weight next to them, then said, “So… Nathaniel, are you French or something?”

“British,” he corrected. “I lived in England as a child.”

“That accent,” Nicky swooned, fanning himself. “Lord, I feel like a sinner. You’re a backliner, right?”

“Yes. So is Jean.”

“They always called you two the hellpair on TV,” Nicky laughed. “I didn’t know it was because you were together!” 

Thankfully, Kevin and Andrew got in the car before they had to respond. The drive was short, and they arrived just as Nathaniel’s injuries started to burn due to the contorted way he had to sit in Jean’s lap. Nathaniel was the first one out, and he leaned against the lamppost, rubbing his wrist and wincing a little.

“ _ Are you all right?”  _ Jean said in French, coming to his side. “ _ I told you that you shouldn’t have taken off the sling.” _

“ _ It just hurts a little, _ ” Nathaniel said. “ _ No big deal _ .”

“ _ What?”  _ Kevin injected himself into the conversation, leaving Andrew, Aaron, and Nicky standing alone by the car.

“ _ Nate decided that he had healed enough to take off his sling and bandages, _ ” Jean explained, “ _ And now he’s hurting and I’m telling him he made a stupid decision _ .”

“ _ Is he really still like this _ ?” Kevin asked, exasperated. “ _ Nathaniel, you have to be smarter when it comes to your health. _ ”

“ _ Maybe, but at least I don’t leave my friends behind _ ,” Nathaniel said with a cold smile, his father’s smile, and Kevin jerked back like he’d been slapped.

Jean placed a hand Nathaniel’s arm. “ _ Don’t, Nate _ ,” he said, switching to Mandarin so Kevin didn’t understand.  _ “He’s been through enough _ .”

“ _ I disagree, Jean _ ,” Nathaniel replied in biting French, refusing to let Jean keep Kevin in the dark. That terrible smile was still intact, smeared violently across his face. “ _ I don’t think he knows how much we suffered after he left. Maybe we should tell him what Riko did to us the day we discovered he was gone. What the master did to us, too _ .”

_ “Nathaniel, I _ —”

“ _ No, Kevin, _ ” Nathaniel interrupted. “ _ You can’t come up with excuses now. Do you know what Riko did first? _ ”

Jean’s face was ashen, but he didn’t say anything, just held on to Nathaniel with steadying fingers.

“ _ He carved his name into my stomach _ ,  _ Kevin _ .  _ With a butcher’s knife. Just in case I forgot who I belonged to, like you did.”  _ Nathaniel lifted the front of his hoodie to reveal the scars of four letters that ran from the bottom of his rib cage to the waistband of his joggers. He let it drop again, continuing, “ _ And he broke my ankles so I couldn’t run after you, and he made Jean handcuff me to the wall and slice up my legs. And then he really got started _ .” Nathaniel laughed, and it was horrible.

Jean remembered doing it. He remembered that he hadn’t cried, because if he’d cried, then Riko would have made him cut deeper.

“ _ So no, Kevin, _ ” said Nathaniel. “ _ You don’t get to tell me what to do. Because I was tortured for forty-nine hours straight because of you, and I didn’t protest, even though Riko said he would stop if I told him where you had run to. There is no Perfect Court hierarchy here, Kevin, and I don’t owe you a fucking thing, so back the fuck off, or so help me God you will regret it.” _

Kevin had gone pale, and he opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Nathaniel shrugged Jean’s hand off his arm and headed up the sidewalk to Wymack’s apartment, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made myself cry


End file.
